Arthur Pratdragon
by LittleBouquetOfMerthur
Summary: Continuation of S3E7. Wherein Arthur incites Merlin's wrath over freshly polished silverware, revenge is sought through staged weightgain, Gwaine is perceived as a general twat and Merlin's hiding a deep, naughty secret. Merthur.
1. Chapter 1

Extension (aren't they always) from Season 3 Episode 7 (I think), "The Castle of Fyrien"... Let me know if it's worth continuing. Ciao xx

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><p>There was a knock on the door.<p>

"Guinevere!" Arthur started, not expecting her.

"I'm sorry, I know I shouldn't just turn up like this…"

He graciously invited her in, strolling over to rest against the window.

"Everyone's talking about your marriage to Elena." _Oh by all means, remind me of what I'm trying to avoid_, Arthur grumbled mentally with an audible sigh. "I know you said that it isn't what you wanted…" he heard Gwen go on. _You think? Marrying that…uncouth _thing_ whilst my heart belongs to another?_

"And I also know that you can't always have what you want. I know that very well." Gwen got all choked up, causing the blonde to glance over in empathy with his friend.

Arthur let loose another sigh. "Is what I want really all that insane?" he questioned, frustrated that so much suffering was caused by the stifling traditions meant to support Camelot, rather than doing the present opposite.

"Yes Arthur." _I suppose she's right. How could I be in love with a servant? It's completely improper. But…I can't help how I feel. "_From anyone's perspective apart from…yours and mine."

…_she knows? And…she doesn't care?_

"It's completely insane."

_Ouch._

"Then I'm happy being insane. Do you know what's better than being miserable?" he asked her, dark, soft hair a prominent feature in his mind.

"She won't make you miserable," Gwen told Arthur, not sounding quite entirely convincing or certain. "She's got a good heart."

"As do you." Arthur shot back, not wanting to miss out on a chance to comfort his friend who'd been hurting since her father's death, try as she might to hide it.

"We both know it can't be." _I know…doesn't mean I can't long for it though…_

"If I marry her, what will he do?"

Arthur saw Gwen tense, confusion spread over her features. "He?"

"Merlin, of course." He gave her a puzzled look, wondering what she must have been talking about.

"I…I was talking about u-us. About our love…"

He couldn't help it. The shocked snort just flew from his mouth in a rip of sound. _Us? Our love? She thinks…what?_

"Arthur?" Gwen's eyes were filling with tears, and whilst he regretted hurting her it was better than finding out later.

"Gwen…Guinevere…there is no us. I love…I want…_Mer_lin. I thought you knew that, I thought you knew what we were talking about." Trying to be gentle, and with the soothing manner in which one would approach a frightened horse, Arthur approached the now openly weeping girl.

It was too late. His hip bumped into the table and it scraped across the floor, tearing apart any semblance of calm he'd managed to imbue. Gwen fled from the room, sobs echoing down the corridor.

With a frustrated sigh, Arthur threw a goblet down to the floor in irritation, flopping on his bed whilst trying to figure out how best to deal with this.

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><p>Merlin saw Gwen running from Arthur's room crying, and heard the consequent and oh so familiar clang of one of his <em>freshly polished<em> chalices being flung against stone. Stupid prat probably did the noble thing and try to let the maidservant down gently in favour of Princess Elena, but broken her heart instead. Right thing to do for Camelot and all that load of horse manure.

Still. Was it really necessary to take it out on his gleaming silverware? _Git._

Merlin pushed open the door to the prince's chambers, eyes narrowed and on the lookout for any more of his hard work flying around or getting scratched up. With a dismissive grunt towards Arthur's form on the bed, the young sorcerer grumbled as he picked up the goblet, now resplendent with a massive dent in one side and a scratch through the royal crest.

"Fix it, would you, Merlin?" Arthur's voice groaned at him from the other side of the room.

With a flare in his magic that made his eyes burn gold and fireplace leap a little higher, Merlin whirled on his friend. In a deceptively calm voice, he asked, "Arthur, how long do you think it takes to polish a fork?"

Arthur snorted at him, guessing with a smirk on his face that it'd only take 5 seconds to wipe it down.

Narrowing his piercing gaze even more, he then asked, "And how long do you reckon it takes to polish a goblet, then?"

"10, maybe? I really don't care, _Mer_lin, just do your job."

Merlin threw a fit. It took a full minute to properly polish a fork _after_ being cleaned and dried, approximately 5 minutes to do a goblet, paying special attention to the nooks and crannies imbued in the metal of the design. But to fix a dent and a scratch through the ornamentation? Hours. Hours for a single bloody goblet that stupid Arthur Pratdragon deigned to through at the floor in a mantrum. Hours that he could spend doing any number of the dollophead's other menial tasks. Hours of work with no recognition and no gratitude.

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><p>Arthur was getting mildly amused. Merlin's entrance had provided him with some other focus than feeling sorry for poor Gwen, a rather riveting distraction as the boy babbled about polishing crockery or whatever whilst his eyes blazed a furious blue, lips parting prettily as they formed the insults and complaints hurled at his royal personage.<p>

Wait…Pratdragon? _MERLIN!_

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><p>To (maybe) be continued :o Review? Pretty please?<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm particularly fond of how Merlin likes to joke around about Arthur being/getting fat, and how he gets so offended. Share my joy ^.^_

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><p>Arthur was…somewhat irked. A man has to eat, does he not? And here Merlin is giving him the smallest portions of food possible, informing the staff to not cave to the prince's ranting demands and having the all-around bloody <em>gall<em> to tell him he's getting fat!

"Getting fat…It's just muscle. I do _train_, you know, even if it's not as often as usual…" Arthur grumbled along to himself, absentmindedly stroking his stomach as if seeking confirmation. Alas, his shirt was a bit firmer than usual. Looking down in horror, the blonde pulled up the offending article of clothing and stared in horror at what he saw to be gradually lessening definition on his previously toned abdomen.

"Oh God… It can't be!"

With a cry, the prince tore from his chambers, streaking past a bewildered Merlin staggering under a mound of silverware and shrieking about needing to work out.

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><p>Merlin smirked. It was all for play, of course, his own little revenge for the Gwen-and-Goblet incident. Fixing the cup had been bad enough, but then poor girl had come crying to him afterwards in distress, shocking him with news that Arthur didn't love her like they – and all their friends – had thought. That there was someone else…<p>

Now, as he did then, Merlin struggled to quash the strange uneasy tightness in his chest that just wouldn't go away if he lingered too long on the topic. He just felt bad for Gwen, he supposed. It really looked as if they were meant to be. Still, it was great of her to tailor in Arthur's shirts just that little bit.

Shaking off that train of thought, Merlin pushed passed the gaping doorway and into Arthur's rooms.

He stopped in his tracks.

_What the devil was he doing in here?_

Clothes were strewn everywhere, littering every available surface – including the fireplace –and bloody hell that freshly washed tunic was covered in soot. Blessedly, the armour was still neatly adorning the mannequin Merlin had fashioned, displaying the bane of his existence proudly.

_Ughh, if he's going to train, then why leave his equipment behind?_ Knowing the prat would put him in the stocks if his gear wasn't at his disposal at his Highness' insistence, the slight servant heaved it all into a sack and toted it down to the training fields.

_Stupid prat rushing off and not taking his own stuff…couldn't do anything without me, dependent insufferable…_Merlin muttered under his breath, face heated with exertion.

He found Arthur red, hot and sweaty in the main field participating in a shirtless boxing match with Gwaine. Oddly fascinated by the sight, Merlin stopped in his tracks, standing there gaping like a fool as the two men threw punches and wrestled to and fro. Finally, groaning in defeat and declaring the need for a drink, Gwaine yielded to the blonde prince, wincing as he touched the new bruise surrounding his eye.

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><p>Arthur grinned in triumph as he pinned Gwaine's arm behind his back, smooshing the others face into the ground until the yield came.<p>

_All warmed up now, where's Merlin? I need my gear._

Preparing to shout in exasperation, the blonde sucked air and whirled around, ready to stalk back to the castle in an irritated fury. Choking in surprise, he saw the boy was already standing by the edge of the field, armour teetering dangerously in an increasingly slack grip.

"_Mer_lin! Pay attention!"

The boy jumped in surprise, metal flying everywhere and crashing with a loud clang.

Arthur rolled his eyes in frustrated amusement. Couldn't he do anything right? Also, why wasn't he scrambling to pick it all up and grovel like he should? _Hello_, Prince of Camelot here. Some deference would be nice?

But instead Merlin just stood there, lips pressed tightly together and eyes wide as a ravishing red blush spread across his delicate face.

The blonde looked around in confusion before his eyes landed on the rumpled figure getting to his feet, dark bruising around one eye highlighting their unnaturally bright grey. Gwaine gave Arthur's manservant a rueful grin and a wink, running a hand through his tousled hair and flexing his prominent muscles.

Arthur quickly looked to Merlin to see his response. Surely he wouldn't fall for…for _Gwaine_ of all people? Surely he wouldn't want that toned, tanned, easy going curse of a knight, when he could have Arthur, who was…not like that. As Merlin frequently reminded him. But the blush had spread further, reddening the tips of his ears all the way down into that thrice-accursed neckerchief he always wore. _No…_

"Merlin! Don't just stand there looking like a fish. Armour, now!" he snapped, covering the hurt with his usual bravado. He'd just have to train and protect _his_ Merlin (not that the boy knew it) from Gwaine by pushing the other out of the picture.

_Merlin is far too pure and innocent to be corrupted by that drunkard. It's okay baby, I'll save you!_

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><p>Merlin didn't know what had come over him. One minute he'd been fine, only slightly distracted by the glistening body of his prince (though he didn't know where or why that fascination had arisen), and then next, metal was flying everywhere he was struggling not to burst out laughing at how ridiculous Gwaine looked, face turning red at the effort it took to rein it in. His friend had thrown him a wink and an attempt at a smile to cover up his embarrassment, nearly cracking Merlin's completely ineffectual poker face when Arthur snapped.<p>

The prat could've been nicer about it. Shouldn't winning put him in a good mood? But nooo, he had to go full clotpole on him and snark. What was with that look on his face anyway? Just weird. He'd already won, no need to look so panicked. It's not like Gwaine would have hit him from behind when he'd already yielded.

Even so, Merlin did his duty and dressed his prince in the armour, finding it difficult to not let his hands linger just that little bit longer on the exposed sections of heated flesh. Covering up his discomfort with random babble, the servant informed Arthur that had he gotten his head out of his ass he might've beaten Gwaine a little faster, and gleefully claimed that it might be because he's getting a little "out of shape". The poor prat looked horrified, and rushed out of the barracks roaring for Sir Percival to hurry up and fight him.

Merlin smirked. _Prat_.

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><p><em>Follow, favourite review – all are welcome and appreciated ^.^<em>


	3. Chapter 3

_If we're being honest, I hate how OC my characters are. But, I console myself with the fact that it is damn near impossible to get it right, considering the level of perfection that the boys are, and how their natural chemistry is just… *sigh* well, I'll try not to break down into fangirl tears again…for now…_

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><p>Arthur could barely move. His back, thighs, arms, and dear God his <em>core<em> burned with the ferocious fury of over exertion. Everything felt like jelly and he was too tired –_ far_ too tired, he insisted – to walk up the six flights of stairs to his chambers. So, he ordered Merlin to carry him.

"Sorry, what?" the boy spluttered, the half grin on his face slowly sliding off and shattering in horror as he realised how serious the blonde prat was.

"_Mer_lin, you heard what I said. Carry me! And then I want a bath, and you need to fix all this," he continued on, gesturing at his damaged and now decidedly _un_polished armour, "and I'll want food as soon as we get back to my rooms."

He smirked in accomplishment. Merlin's face was priceless, and he'd be damned if he wasn't the slightest bit satisfied. After all, none of this…._exercise_…business would have happened unless the servant hadn't opened his big – _adorable_ – mouth – _that Arthur wanted so badly to kiss_ – and called his prince fat. Seriously. All Merlin's fault. He wasn't fat…

Arthur pouted and held him limp arms up towards the boy who had still not moved, withholding the devious smile that threatened to overtake his lips. _Come on Merlin, carry meeeeeeee!_

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><p>Merlin raised an eyebrow at the blonde figure sprawled out on the floor of the barracks, pout gracing those plump lips drawing him in, and those eyes, oh those eyes that he could drown in…<p>

_Wait, what?_ _Where did that come from?_

Prat magic, Merlin decided. Only possible explanation. Sure, it mightn't be a real thing, but Arthur had a way of just getting beneath his skin and irritating him and looking so cute he couldn't say no…_ Anyway. _Yes. Prat magic.

Merlin looked around, and grimaced at the pile of armour dumped in a heap next to the figure he was _not_ looking at, and the various assorted weapons of mass destruction slung haphazardly over random surfaces. Calling in two other servants, he asked them to please drag up the gear to "Prince Arthur's rooms as soon as possible, I'm sure he'll be very grateful", and, sticking his head out the door, yelled for Gwaine to come help him haul the Princess.

With a chuckle, the servant acknowledged the indignant cry from Arthur, still sprawled on the floor, and went over to his master. Crouching down next to him, and attempting to pull his best poker face, Merlin stated that, "What can I say, sire, you're just too fat for me to lift on my own."

But he couldn't help the gleeful grin that appeared and spread like wildfire, softening his affectionate insult, nudging the sore prince with his toe.

Gwaine came in and smiled in amusement at Merlin's predicament and, remembering the boy's revenge on the pigheaded clotpole, bemoaned the task of having to carry all of Arthur's weight up so many stairs. Merlin had never been so grateful for having a fantastic friend like Gwaine, always so eager to participate in practical jokes purely for the fun of it.

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><p>Arthur saw Gwaine enter the barracks and shoot a flirtatious smile at Merlin – right in front of him! And then – as if that wasn't bad enough – he had the bloody impudence to say he might break his back carrying his prince up that many stairs. The knight ran a hand through his hair seductively, making eyes at his servant.<p>

Offended and insulted beyond belief, Arthur pushed through the jellylike state of his muscles and stood shakily to his feet, promptly ordering the drunkard to "fuck off or I'll have you banned from the taverns!"

With some satisfaction – following the irritation of another shared flirtatious smile with _his_ Merlin – Arthur watched the knight leave. Unfortunately, his legs chose that precise moment to give out, whereupon he aimed his fall towards that delicious ivory skin calling to him.

"Ahh! Arthur you prat, are you trying to kill me?!" shrieked his servant, those beautiful cheekbones flushed and silken brow taut from the shock of the unexpected dead weight. Those thin arms wound around him, awkwardly trying to support the slowly slipping Arthur who relished in the pseudo embrace.

"Carry me Merlin." It was an order this time, not a playful plea. He was annoyed, and just wanted to feel Merlin's arms holding him _without_ pervy knights trying to steal his property with their…with their _knightliness_.

With one last pout at the straining face above his, Arthur won the battle of wills and smirked successfully upon the feeling of weightlessness – even if Merlin was staggering around a bit. Or a lot.

_I'm still _not_ fat! Hmph_.

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><p><em>Bloody prat sending away Gwaine, making me carry him all by myself. He mightn't <em>actually _be fat, but he's not light and I'm so weak I can't lift a bloody sword properly! '_Carry me Merlin'_ my ass…_

Merlin huffed and strained and staggered his way up the last flight of stairs, resting occasionally on the walls where he'd prop Arthur up on the railing. _Stupid git…_ Though it was surprisingly nice to be with Arthur like this. Childish and annoying, yet somehow amusing and sweet that the prince would let his guard down enough to allow –_ahem, _command – himself to be carried.

"Finally!" he moaned, unceremoniously dumping Arthur onto the canopy bed, his own arms limp and exhausted from the effort. Forgetting protocol, Merlin flopped down onto the bed beside the blonde, letting out a satisfied moan of relief.

"Merlin…"

The boy in question looked up, twisting his neck sideways to look at Arthur.

_Oh… oh my… _

Merlin was ensnared in the glittering blue gaze of his friend and master. They were like the reflection of the sky on a pond amidst the woods, cerulean blue chased with flecks of green and brown and hazel. They were like the first breath one takes after being under water for ages, relief and pleasure for oxygen deprived lungs. They were like –

"Merlin."

Merlin was snapped out of his decidedly girly and weird and _inappropriate_ assessment of Arthur's eyes by the sound of the man's husky, gravelly, resonating… um, the man's voice.

"Y-yes, sire?"

He heard the blonde snort, and saw a golden eyebrow raise in amusement.

"Where's my bath?"

_Bloody prat._

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><p><em>I know the chapters are short, but it's better than long and full of (even more) shit. Please review, favourite, follow, whichever. Ciao xx<em>


	4. Chapter 4

_Two chapters in a day = on a roll (well...it's now past midnight, so define 'day'). Also just realised that Gwaine isn't part of the series at that point…oops? Nahh, I love him too much, he can stay, sneaky lil' bugger he is. Enjoy xx_

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><p>So, he got the moron his bath. Whatever, daily occurrence, right? But Merlin just couldn't shake from his mind the images of Arthur leaning back into his touch as he washed his shoulders, arms, neck…and the suspicious sound of a moan that issued from the prince's lips as Merlin soaped up and washed the man's hair.<p>

It couldn't have been because of him, though. Probably the effect of the magnesium salts Gaius had had him stir into the bathwater. After such a long and intensive day, Arthur was exhausted and sore, and relaxing in the tub like that must've felt pretty good. That sweet, peaceful expression that so rarely showed itself had settled across the blonde's features, softening the sharp angles and relaxing the incessant worry lines that decorated his brow… And no, he was _not_ smiling at the memory, thank you very much…

Trying to reassert his manliness to himself, Merlin moved onto the next vambrace in the pile of amour next to him. Arthur, sitting in his chair over there being oh so _smug_, had ordered the servant to have it done before the prince went to bed because his Pratliness didn't want to be woken up by clanking in the morning as Merlin put the armour back on the mannequin.

Rubbing the oil carefully into the metal of the forearm protector, dints already hammered out, Merlin pondered Arthur's reactions to Gwaine recently.

It was strange, that was for sure. He had shot Merlin a panicked look upon seeing the servant watching him and Gwaine fight in the grounds earlier that day, and insisted at the risk of tavern banishment that the knight not help Merlin carry him. Was…was there something going on between the pair? Could Gwaine be the "other person" Gwen had mentioned Arthur having? Poor girl… to lose him was one thing, particularly when he was apparently never hers to lose. But to lose him to Gwaine? Now that was just sad.

_But he's mine._

The thought came unwittingly, and Merlin let out a soft uneasy chuckle. His? Of course not. He had no claim, didn't even feel like that about Arthur…did he?

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><p>"Merlin?" Arthur called, concerned at the look of extreme discomfort on the raven's face and the sound of the nervous laugh.<p>

"Hm? Oh…sorry sire, just thinking."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the timid reply. "Well stop, you look like you're hurting yourself."

The boy was acting weird. And not good weird. Arthur didn't like seeing Merlin uncomfortable or awkward or apprehensive. He liked happy, bubbly Merlin, and would do anything to get the sweet smile back on the boy's face…

A knock on the door, and a certain knight stuck his head through.

_Anything except that…_

"Evening, sire, may I speak to Merlin?" Gwaine asked, apple in hand.

Drawing in a breathe to say that he could not _possibly_ spare the servant right now and that they were _far_ too busy for such nonsense, he was cut off.

"Gwaine!" Merlin shouted, previous cares seemingly forgotten. "Do you have it?"

The knight ushered the boy outside, where Arthur could only hear snatches of the conversation, his name included. Arthur frowned. Since ridding himself of Elena – thank God – he'd been keeping Merlin closer than ever, realising that his princely duties may take him away from his beloved at any time. Consorts were, of course, perfectly accepted and such, but his father would disapprove of such an arrangement. No heirs would be a serious problem in his eyes, as well as the part where…well… Merlin _was_ a servant, after all.

Arthur sighed, sore limbs aching as he pressed a hand to his head. Hearing the door creak open and close again, he groaned.

"Merlin?"

"Mm?" came the distracted reply.

"Stop doing the armour and come help me."

Arthur heard Merlin's irritated sigh. He did have that weird attachment to his armour…and silverware in general, really… _Fetish?_ His mind brightly supplied.

With a cough the blonde had to adjust himself, though the red in his face refused to dissipate.

"Uh…Arthur? Help with what?"

He looked up to find a somewhat annoyed – really, the nerve – and impatient raven standing over him. Delicate eyebrow raised, the prince politely asked ("for God's sake just do it Merlin") the boy to walk him over to his bed and rub his aching muscles.

Merlin pulled a face. "Um…can't Gaius do it?"

Arthur pouted again. "But _Mer_lin, he's so old and I'm so _sore_!"

_And the pout wins again!_ Arthur crowed, servant huffing in acquiescence as the boy fetched the oil.

Upon seeing the jar in those pale fingers, though…well, let's just say Arthur had to readjust again as certain images flooded his mind. But then he couldn't hold back the moans as Merlin's fingers dug into tightly wound muscles, lower back, calves, hamstrings all being thoroughly tended to at his command.

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><p>Merlin, whilst still peeved at being taken away from the soon to be glittering armour in his little corner, was somewhat nervous at doing the task bid of him. He needed time to figure out what the hell was going on in his head, and having this…this <em>feast<em> spread before him was too much temptation to handle.

Nonetheless, when the Crown Prince tells you to do something, you do it or end up in the stocks, and not that it's ever a pleasant experience, but there's been a particular fondness for potatoes with the crowd lately that makes it ten times worse.

Internal babble ceased to exist once he'd gotten on with it, which was apparently "about bloody time." The oil coating his fingers made the movements slick, delicate digits furrowing into the knotted muscles bunched up from the day's exhaustive work. And the moans, dear God the moans that issued from the man beneath him were so provocative and sensuous that they should have been outlawed.

All too soon, Arthur fell asleep and Merlin had to cease his ministrations. With regret and a more than slightly hard erection, the servant backed off and settled back at his station in the corner. Once more picking up a piece of armour, Merlin lovingly polished the piece as his mind wandered elsewhere, musing upon the additional stimulus.

Were he and Arthur friends? Yes, definitely. Merlin'd even venture as far as saying best friends.

Did he see him as a brother? Ew no, imagine having _that_ as a brother, not even being able to look let alone touch…

Ah. Did…did he _like_ Arthur? Perhaps… But…if he did, was it just physical?

And there came a solid, resounding _no_. Arthur was kind and gentle and sweet – but still a bloody prat – and even if it wasn't his "Dragon defined destiny" or whatever, Merlin would still lay down his life for the blonde prince.

He pushed the idea around like a candy in his mouth, one of those that that stableboy seemed so fond of. It was possible, to say the least. He'd be damned if he hadn't _noticed_ Arthur, all muscle and hair and eyes. And he had most certainly noticed the warm, fuzzy feeling he got when the prince praised his work or had his back or just been there for him.

But…Arthur's just such a _prat_, and even if he knew how Merlin got around him, His Royal Pratliness' huge ego would only expand. It wasn't reciprocated, he knew that. It couldn't be, Arthur was going to be king, he was just a servant and there was the whole Arthur-and-Gwaine (Gwarthur? Arthaine?) issue…

With a final rub of the last platelet of armour, Merlin set the mound aside to be hung in the morning and tried to push his now miserable and pining thoughts away. Giving the shining metal one last loving pat, the raven took his leave from the prince's chambers, intent on finding his own warm bed.

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><p>Arthur slowly sat up as the Merlin's footsteps faded down the corridor. The servant talks while he works, likely unknowingly, and the soft, quiet chatter had gently drifted over and stirred the blonde from his sleep.<p>

He grinned. So not only Merlin systematically worked through his feelings concerning Arthur and had a rather _desirable_ outcome, but he had allowed Arthur to hear every word, consequently providing battle plans to be made.

And nothing going on with his servant and Gwaine… well, on Merlin's end. Of course Gwaine would want a piece of his Merlin, who wouldn't? He'd seen the leers, the seductive grins, the sultry pouts…

_Mine_, Arthur growled. He'd have to get his sweet manservant to see reason before that drunkard knight got to him. And what was with the visit to his chambers anyway? What was 'it' that Gwaine had and Merlin wanted?

Ugh. Being the prince was hard. The constant temptation to throw people in the stocks was too great a burden for just one man to bear.

_Or is it?_ An evil smirk Morgana would be jealous of crossed his face.

God he was such a prat. It was great.

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><p><em>Hope you enjoyed. Please review, it makes me happy xx<em>


	5. Chapter 5

_Starting to ship Merlin with the silverware, to be honest. His obsession is rather cute. It's also after 3am. In other news, I seem to be suffering an intense lack of communication between brain and computer, and appear to have invented scenes that have not survived the mind-to-word-document translation, as well as ideas that do not connect upon being read by someone other than me. Many apologies, my dears xx_

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><p>Merlin stashed his recently acquired prize in the pop-out compartment hidden inside Arthur's fireplace, safe in the knowledge that no one would find it and out him. With a furtive glance around the rooms, and a double check on the prince's still comatose form, the young warlock darted over to his – well, Arthur's – beautifully gleaming armour propped up and waiting to be hung.<p>

Ten minutes and one last, loving pat later and his hard work was complete, a glittering array of protective gear artfully arranged on the mannequin. With the sunlight now streaming through the windows, Merlin decided it was time to awaken the figure on the bed. Turning from the armour, he ran into a wall. A very solid, very warm and deliciously contoured wall at that.

xXx

It was, of course, the determinedly _not_ fat prince in a stubbornly _un_pleasant mood with _extremely_ achy muscles. Though the arm wrapped around his manservant's waist stopping the boy from falling over was steadily making up for the vast selection of negatives.

"_Mer_lin. What are you doing?" he drawled out in between yawns and winces.

"Erm... hanging up your armour, sire?"

_God_ _he's gorgeous. _"Again? Seriously?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at the man, simultaneously appraising the now semi-possible presence of a fetish and razing the delightfully slender body still ensconced in his arms.

Arthur smirked as Merlin jumped away from him, amusement overriding the loss of contact. Indignantly, the boy protested his master's judgemental tone and face flushing an obstinate red. "At least I actually do my duties, _sire_."

The prince chuckled at Merlin's obviously invoked ire and proceeded to unceremoniously haul him over to the bed. "Rub me." The statement came calmly and primly from Arthur, now flopped on his stomach and uncomfortably flexing and contracting his painful muscles in an attempt to get some relief. "_Now_, Merlin. I'm sore, goddamnit."

xXx

Merlin flushed a bright red at the thought of once again being granted free reign to touch as he pleased. And oh, did he please. He'd been up late last night sifting through various situations where he'd noticed himself gravitating towards Arthur in a strictly non-professional manner, and measured out the physical versus emotional responses. Much to his satisfaction and suppressed heart break at the unrequitedness, emotional shone through clear as day. It could never happen though. And this massaging business was just cruel; taunting him in ways Arthur could never understand or be allowed to know. Still, it was too hard to resist, and orders were orders...

And so, with an amount of glee Merlin strictly refused to acknowledge, he set to the task.

For his part, Arthur seemed a wonderful patient. Rather vocal and signalled the areas requiring more attention. Gradually, though, the prince quieted, and Merlin smiled, pleased he could at least grant Arthur some relief and relaxation.

About to wipe his oiled hands off on a cloth and fetch the prince's breakfast, Merlin was startled into non-action. A burly, golden arm had been flung out sideways, and caught the young warlock in its grasp and pulled his body towards the bulk on the bed. Merlin froze, not knowing what to do, but definitely trapped by the heavy weight of Arthur's muscled arms, and by not wanting to disturb the now gently snoring prince's sleep.

Surely he'd spent an age lying there in quiet, waiting for an opportunity to slip out from Arthur's grasp, but any movement served for the arm holding him to draw him tighter against that wall of a chest he'd so admired earlier.

_At least I fought... Jeez but I'm tired, stayed up too late last night..._

Merlin gently drifted off to sleep, lulled into unconscious by the odd sense of warmth and safety surrounding him.

xXx

Everything was fuzzy, and nothing made sense. In that odd state of mind just as one is on the brink between sleep and awareness, where all the colours coalesce behind closed eyelids, Arthur felt content and happy in a way he hadn't before, and unconsciously tightened his arms around...that.

With a start, his eyes shot open. There's no way that could've happened...the last thing he remembered was Merlin digging into a particularly resistant knot in his left shoulder blade, not anything..._lewd_, like waking up in such a position, even clothed, would suggest. Not that he'd be opposed to that, mind you, but he sensed the boy wasn't anywhere near ready.

Looking down, Arthur saw Merlin's head resting on one of his outstretched arms, curled up against his body with the prince's other arm holding him close. _Interesting._

Although he would have happily have stayed like that for the rest of the day – hell, the rest of his life, even – Arthur couldn't afford the blow to the boy's reputation should someone walk in and assume the worst. Merlin could lose his job if Uther decided he'd gotten too close to his trophy son, and then Arthur wouldn't be able to see Merlin again. And that hurt more than interrupting this beautiful, fragile moment.

And so, in true Arthurian style, he decided to be as annoying as possible to crack past any potential awkwardness. Gently blowing on the pale ears emerging from the mop of soft dark hair resting on his bicep, Arthur proceeded to irritate his manservant into consciousness.

xXx

In retrospect, evidently the prat hadn't taken into account that Merlin's admittedly large though delicate ears might have been an erogenous zone. A rather significant one at that. Merlin, for his part, woke to a most delicious sensation just barely stimulating the blood flow in his sensitive ear tips, sending pulsating throbs directly to his groin. Which, in all honesty, had him squirming and pushing backwards with his hips...straight into those of Arthur.

Feeling a very physical and not so imagined reaction stirring from his instinctive movement, Merlin snapped back into reality, noted Arthur's presence and their present situation and did the manly thing. Merlin, in all his unadjusted glory, rocketed to his feet, stared in horror at the confused, befuddled and gorgeously blue eyed Arthur, and bolted for the door.

* * *

><p><em>Nooo, Merlin baby, stay! I love you, I need you, etc etc. Ugh. Why do all my stories get so sappy. Please reviewfollow/favourite :) ciao xx_


	6. Chapter 6

_Holy Jared and Jensen, Supernatural is intense. I'm re-watching, and my God it wrenches my heart watching the season 2 finale (both part 1 and 2). Just... the feels are intense as fuck. Also, someone should a Merlin-meets-an-incubus story. That'd be cool. Anyway, hope you enjoy the random plotless crap that I seem to love spouting!_

Things were... awkward, to say the least. Merlin was openly shunning his every attempt to draw him into conversation, completing his duties without fanfare or overt complaints, and the boy fled his chambers if they were alone together and didn't have a task requiring his full attention.

Then there was Gwaine, and how the incubus of a man was eye-fucking _his_ Merlin in front of everyone! And all Merlin did was smile and chuckle in amusement at what he thought was merely 'antics'. Arthur just didn't know how to handle it. Things could be so simple. He could've called out to Merlin, begged him to stay and not run away from him; manned up and told him how he really felt, tightening that arm holding the boy so close and safe. But he didn't, and now he had to watch this.

_Fair punishment, I suppose. Merlin deserves someone who can care and support and gently talk him down from those flighty moods. I'll show him I'm that person. But first..._

He wasn't proud of it. But some things...some things were bigger than pride and mortification. Some things just had to be done. The third night after the unspeakable event happened, Merlin snuck back into Arthur's chambers at midnight. He had to. It was beginning to become a desperate situation.

Tiptoeing over to the fireplace and removing the brick, Merlin groped around the space within. _God, where is it?_ His heart began racing as the panic attack set in. If someone found it... oh God, if someone –

There was a cough. Merlin froze, terrified at getting caught in this, the most private and secret of ventures. Slowly he spun around to face the dishevelled figure looming over him.

"_Mer_lin, what in God's name are you doing?"

Merlin watched in horror as the figures triumphant smirk grew wider, grinning like a cat that's gotten into the larder's cream store. And then things got so much worse.

"Looking for something?" the blonde topped wall of muscle beamed, visibly choking back laughter as he held up Merlin's package. Merlin made to snatch it from Arthur's hand, but found himself spun and locked against the prince's chest, trapped by that same arm that caused these three days of awkward trepidation.

"Arthur, p-please just give it back..." Merlin tried to actively distract himself from warm, solid chest that was pressed up perfectly against his back, and the feeling of safety and contentment that came with the thick arm encircling his body.

"But _Mer_lin, why don't we open it together? See what's so important about this that made you break your vow of distance." He heard the pain and hurt in those last few forcibly jovial words and felt immediate guilt. Almost enough to take the edge of embarrassment away of what he'd find in those linen wrappings...but not quite.

Swallowing the metaphorical frog lodged in his throat (the literal wasn't too fun a few weeks back; accidental magic), Merlin struggled against his captor growing increasingly panicked as Arthur's amused chuckles were accompanied by a heft that had Merlin dumped on the bed, package still in the prince's hands. "_So_, Merlin, let's see now, eh?"

One by one, the layers were stripped back, and the young warlock could only watch in horrified desire as he saw the two things he adored more than anything in the world together: Arthur, and his...his... oh God he's seen it.

Arthur hadn't actually opened his prize before Merlin entered. But now, looking down on it in bewilderment and glancing up at the mortified servant, a Cheshire grin spread even further across his tanned face. He was _so_ right about it, and God if he wasn't going to give him hell about-

Oh. No, he wasn't. Support and nurture, that's what he had to do, particularly since that flighty mood kicked up a notch into terrified. Just like that, the grin slid right off his face, and Arthur gently sat next to Merlin on the bed. Eyes solemn, he picked up one of Merlin's hands and folded those delicate ivory fingers around the items, holding the slender digits in his own massive palms.

"No judgement, Merlin. I'm just so happy you're that dedicated to your job." Arthur whispered, sensing the fragility stemming from the tears welling in those beautiful blue eyes. Reaching out tentatively, he wrapped his arms around the boy's frame and pulled him close, hugging and soothing and shushing, wishing more than anything to dispel the fear of rejection and judgement shining through. "I'm so happy that you take such good care of me..." he tapered off, emotion thickening his voice. No longer trusting words, Arthur burrowed into Merlin's neckerchief, breathing in the vaguely spicy scent that _was_ Merlin.

Merlin couldn't believe what was happening. He'd been certain, positively certain that he was going to get laughed at and teased and made fun of til he died, but every ounce of mirth was dispelled in the snap of an instant, replaced by solemn acceptance. Yeah he knew it was weird, and Gwaine had laughed enough when a blushing Merlin had confronted him about getting his hands on some, but Arthur's calm, easy recognition had him seeing stars behind happy, teary eyes.

He hesitantly lifted a hand up to the head nestled in the crook of his neck, carding fingers through the thick locks of the prince's hair. This was nice. And surprisingly not awkward, despite everything that had happened.

Arthur stiffened in his arms, and then everything was a lucid blur. Head arching back into Merlin's fingers, still tangled in blonde strands; blue eyes locking on blue, strong emotions swirling in their celestial depths. Cautious lowering of Arthur's lips to Merlin's.

When the contact was made, he couldn't help himself. Arthur moaned from the blessing he'd been given to hold and cherish this gorgeous, wonderful individual, even momentarily. He'd proceeded with caution, panicking that he'd be pushed away, but not wanting to let the boy run from what he was semi-sure they were both feeling again. Seeing no defiance in those ephemerally expressive eyes, he'd done it.

In an instant, he felt Merlin clutching at his shirt, pulling him closer, not pushing away. And that triggered his reaction. Arthur scooped up the raven, pressing him against his chest as tightly as possible as he arranged Merlin on his lap. This burning, all encompassing, bubbly feeling that had his eyes screwing up and chest aching and heart beating solely for Merlin, _his_ Merlin hit him so suddenly that he had to pull away.

Merlin sat perched on Arthur's lap, dishevelled and rumpled with plump, bruised lips, flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. It was one of the most stunning things he'd ever seen, and God only knew that he just couldn't let the boy run off.

"D-don't leave..." he rasped out. "Dear God, Merlin please don't leave." Arthur couldn't control the tears that worked their way from his eyes, choking him up as he begged Merlin to stay with him and only him.

With a gasp caught in his throat at an Arthur bearing his soul to him, there was only one thing Merlin could say.

"Okay."

And the package previously gripped so firmly in the young warlocks hand was tossed to the side, highest quality steel wool and silver polish that exacerbated Merlin's strange fetish tumbling from the wrappings as Merlin and Arthur lost themselves in each other.

_I love the little stupefied smile on Colin's face whenever 'Arthur' does something stupid and he's just like "ugh" and throws his hands down and smiles/smirks after him in dumbfounded amazement. Perfect acting for a perfectly adorable character. This chapter is so sappy it makes me want to gag. I sincerely apologise, dear friends. Pretty sure the chapter doesn't make sense anyhow. Perhaps I'll end it here and save us all the pain of dying from a fanfic sugar coma. Please review/favourite/follow :)_


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